


Cold Comfort

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6886528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It gets cold on the way to Haven, and neither Sereda nor Zevran are fans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

Sereda’s teeth chatter against each other as they head towards Haven.  She wants to go back to Denerim, or anywhere else where it’s warm, but the deeper they get into the mountains, the colder it gets.  It never got this cold in Orzammar, and this is definitely her least favorite topside thing.  They’re never going to the mountains again.  Never, ever, ever.  

“Warden!” Zevran’s voice interrupts her train of thought.  

“What?” Sereda asks, looking up at him and trying to look less miserable.  “Sorry, I was thinking.”

She notes that he also looks fairly miserable.  It’s good to know that she’s not the only one who hates this annoying weather.  Although, she hopes that he doesn’t get sick.  

“I merely asked if you are looking forward to the snow.  I can’t imagine you saw much snow in Orzammar,” Zevran says.  

“Is the snow the stuff coming out of our mouths?” Sereda asks.  She’s been wondering about why she can see breaths now.

At this point, she just assumes that if something is alarming yet no one has any reaction to it, the only reason it’s alarming is her own ignorance.  The result is that she’s constantly in a mild panic that she’s in danger.  It’s not ideal, but it’s better than asking her companions a million idiotic questions.

Zevran chuckles at her, and she knows she’s said something wrong.  At least he doesn’t make her feel stupid, like a lot of people do.  

“No, no, this is just our breath.  The snow is the whiteness that you can see in the distance.  It falls from the sky,” Zevran says.  

“Oh, okay.  Do you have a lot of snow in Antiva?” Sereda asks.  

“Not at all, Antiva is quite warm.  Snow is a rarity,” Zevran explains.  

“We’re going there next,” Sereda says decisively.  

Zevran laughs.  “Not enjoying the cold?”

“I’m fine,” Sereda lies, really wishing her teeth would stop chattering.  “I’m more worried about you.”

“About me?” Zevran asks.

It’s something that she’s only noticed recently, but he sounds so surprised when she says she worries or cares about him.  Sure, they had agreed to keep their relationship casual, but surely he hadn’t expected that she would just not care about him at all.  He’s still part of her team, after all.

“Yes, about you,” Sereda says.

“I am fine,” Zevran says.  “Do not worry about me.”

Sereda sighs, looking up at him suspiciously.  For once, his easy smile doesn’t comfort her in the slightest.  She knows that he hides things from her, and that’s well within his rights, but she wonders if he’d hide it if he was in real danger, even if it was just from the cold.  

“I’m not looking forward to the snow, if only because it means more cold,” Sereda says.  “I thought the rest of Ferelden was cold enough.”

“It is a rather cold place,” Zevran says.  “But I believe you will enjoy the snow.”

“Orzammar is warm,” Sereda says with a sigh that turns white in front of her.  “Orzammar is always warm.  You can’t see your breath.  It’s always  _ so  _ warm.”

“You never speak of home,” Zevran says so softly that she almost misses it.  

“It’s not home,” Sereda says with more harshness than she intended.  She still has to remind herself that she’s an exile.  Part of her still expects to wake up underground each morning.  “Orzammar is not my home anymore.”

Zevran is watching her closely and she tries not to shift uncomfortably.  Even though she knows that they’ll have to go to Orzammar at some point and that everything will come out, she’s managed to reveal nothing about why she’s not in Orzammar anymore, or that she used to be a princess.  She intends to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“I apologize,” Zevran says.

They walk along in silence for a little while and Sereda feels bad for snapping at Zevran earlier.  A little curiosity is understandable.

“There are lava flows,” Sereda says, nudging him gently.  “In Orzammar, I mean.  It flows through the city, which means it never really gets dark.  They’re beautiful, like all of Orzammar is.  When I couldn’t sleep, I’d sneak out to watch the lava.  The city would be so quiet, so really all I could hear was the lava bubbling.  It’d help me think.”

“You miss it,” Zevran says.

Sereda looks away from him to the road ahead.  The wind stings at her eyes and she wouldn’t want Zevran to think she’s tearing up.  She’s their leader.  She’s in control.  She can’t be seen tearing up over a bad bout of homesickness.

“Orzammar is an impossible place not to miss.  There’s nothing like it up here,” Sereda says. 

“I look forward to seeing it,” Zevran says.

Sereda inhales sharply.  She can’t imagine him in Orzammar somehow.  Orzammar’s whole society is built on shame and restraint; Zevran is shameless and unrestrained.  Those are two things that she likes the most about Zevran.  

“For once, I’ll be able to watch you look around in amazement and confusion,” Sereda says.  

Zevran laughs.  “I hope you will take mercy on me once more and explain things to me.”

“I think I can arrange that,” Sereda says, joining in his laughter.

She has the briefest, craziest impulse to reach out and take Zevran’s hand in her own.  It would be nice to touch him like this, she thinks, even if it’s through their gauntlets and gloves.  But she knows that handholding is probably the opposite of the casual relationship they agreed on.

Sereda walks a little faster so she doesn’t have to think about anymore.

* * *

  


“I believe that the best way for us to keep warm is bodyheat!” Zevran chirps when they’re setting up camp for the night  “Clearly, we should all share a tent.”

His suggestion is met by grumbles and groans by their gathered companions.  Except, of course, from Sereda, who gives him a smile.

“Hm, is that an agreement, Warden?” Zevran asks.  

“Will you bring your blankets?” Sereda counters.  

“Ah, I see what you’re really interested in,” Zevran says, sighing and shaking his head.  “You have been using me for my blankets.”

“It is so cold,” Sereda says, teeth chattering again.  “I’m not remotely ashamed.  I’ll do  _ anything _ for more blankets.” 

Zevran makes a point of looking her up and down, positively leering.  It can’t be a particularly alluring sight, given that she’s shaking and she feels positively miserable.  But he grins at her anyway.  

“I will have to come up with something suitable and dirty,” Zevran says with a laugh.  

This leads to more groans and grumbles from their companions.  

* * *

  


When Zevran slips into her tent that night, he lays down beside her without saying anything.  He pulls the blankets over them both, being quite careful about making sure they’re covered completely.  

They’re lying face to face in the dark tent, and Zevran can barely see her face.  He feels nervous in a way he can’t quite place.  It feels so strange to have her body pressed against his when neither of them are sweaty and slick from making love.  She had asked him to stay after sex more than once, and he had always agreed, but that felt so different than this.

“Sharing body heat is most effective when naked, you know,” Zevran murmurs to distract himself from his thoughts.  

Plus, she’s still shaking against him.  He’s been worried about how she’s dealing with the cold all day.  The least he can do is keep her warm at night.

“Really?” Sereda asks.  

“I swear on my skill as an assassin,” Zevran says.  

“In that case…” Sereda trails off, letting her fingers undoing the buttons on Zevran’s shirt do the rest of the talking.  

Somehow, they don’t end up having furtive, freezing sex under the blankets, which surprises him.  They just end up with her cheek pressed against his bare chest and his arms wrapped around her tightly.  He rubs her back to generate a little more heat.  

“Tell me about Antiva?” Sereda murmurs.  

For a brief second, he wonders if it’s revenge for calling Orzammar her home earlier, but Sereda isn’t the vengeful sort.  If she was, he’d be dead already.  She’s not the sadistic sort either.  But she is voraciously curious and he likes satisfying her curiosity.

“What would you like to know?” Zevran asks.

“Something warm,” Sereda says.  

“We have beaches in Antiva, which I think you would enjoy,” Zevran says with a soft chuckle.  “I visited one once while tracking a mark, on a cloudless day.  Pretty brown sand blends right into the ocean.  There were noblemen and women stretched out, doing nothing but letting the sun warm them.”

Sereda groans in appreciation, burrowing a little closer to Zevran.  Her body pressed close to him like this, with such familiarity and trust, makes his heart beat faster; he hopes she can’t hear it.

“After I was done assassinating the mark, I came back to the beach and swam in the ocean.  A small indulgence.  It was so warm that I was tempted to float in the water forever,” Zevran says with longing in his voice.  

It’s similar to how he feels now, cuddled in some cold tent with Sereda.  The ground may be painfully hard and the air so cold outside that it stings his skin, but he still feels like he could float here forever, as long as her cheek was pressed against his chest.  As long as her weight was on top of him, pulling him down.  

“But you had to leave,” Sereda says softly.

“A person must always leave the ocean, yes?” Zevran says with an ache in his chest.

At some point, their time fighting the Blight will end, and Sereda has been clear she won’t keep him to his loyalty oath once the Blight is defeated.  Even if she’s indicated that she would like him to stay with her, he has no illusions.  His time with her will have to end.  Pleasure- and whatever else this may be- is always fleeting.  

“I don’t know,” Sereda says thoughtfully.  “People can live in ways that they never expected.  Even come to like it.”

“You are a tricky woman,” Zevran says.

Sereda laughs softly, warm breath ghosting over his skin.  She does that sometimes, laugh for reasons that he doesn’t really understand.  He suspects that after they visit Orzammar, he’ll understand a little better.

“Whatever works, Zevran.  Whatever works,” Sereda murmurs, pressing a kiss to his chest idly. 

Zevran wonders what that means for him.  Before Sereda, he would have accepted inevitably being cast off by his lover; indeed, he would have been the one casting off.  But at times like this, these brief moments of silence and startling intimacy, Zevran realizes that he’s not ready for her to cast him off.  The more time he spends with her, the more he starts to think he’ll never be ready.  

Every day it becomes more difficult to pretend that he’s acting from a purely physical drive.  He wants more than that from her, even though that’s dangerous in more ways than he can count.  Zevran knows he can’t ask for more.  If pleasure is fleeting, something bigger could be destructive.  The last time he took that risk, it certainly was.  

He’s about to answer with some smart remark to make her laugh, when she snores.  Her breath skirts over his skin, warm and soothing.  

Zevran looks down at her.  Even though it’s dark, he can imagine what she looks like.  Even when she’s asleep, her brow is still furrowed, like she doesn’t even get to relax in her sleep.  Given her darkspawn nightmares, he supposes that’s true.

But there are no signs of darkspawn nightmares tonight, which Zevran thanks the Maker for.  Instead, she’s just laying on top of him with a relaxation that she never has when she’s awake.  Normally, she’s always so tense that he worries she’s going to snap in half.

Zevran can feel it, deep in his bones, that he’s not going to get much sleep tonight.  He has these feelings sometimes, and when he senses something wrong, he listens to his instincts.  There are also the nights where he can’t close his eyes without seeing things that he would rather forget.  

This isn’t either one of those nights, though.  Tonight, there are no wayward feelings or ghosts haunting him.  Instead, there’s the quiet sound of Sereda’s breathing, her warmth against his body, and her hair tickling him lightly.  This is a night that he wants to last.  

* * *

  


It is three days of trudging through the cold mountains.  Zevran is shivering his way through it with a grin, but he can see that it’s taking a toll on Sereda.  She’s certainly shivering, but it’s harder and harder to get her to grin back at him.  

At first, Zevran can’t figure out exactly what is so different about her.  It’s something other than her miserable expression.  Two days into his trek, it hits him.  

The entire time he’s known her, Sereda has looked at the world differently than anyone he’s ever known.  He can’t imagine what living underground her entire life and suddenly being aboveground has been like, but she seems fascinated by the whole thing.  Seeing her pure wonder at commonplace things always makes him smile.

But these days, Sereda doesn’t look around with wide, excited eyes.  She stares straight ahead with dull eyes instead.  The change worries him immensely.  It’s not even just the cold; when they’re curled up together in her tent or in front of the fire, she still looks at him with a tiredness that no amount of sleep can cure.  

Three days in, Zevran wakes up earlier than Sereda.  It’s a fairly normal morning until he sees the ceiling of the tent is sagging a little.  He pokes his head out to see that the ground is covered with snow.  Not only that, but it’s falling from the sky in fluffy flakes.  

Zevran smiles at the sight.  It certainly makes the landscape more beautiful.  As long as it doesn’t hinder their progress too much, he’s content with it.  

Normally, he would wake Sereda up to show her this new sight.  But he’s not sure if this will be a welcome sight for her or not.  Days ago, he had been confident that she would take in the sight with wonder, but now… not so much.  

Either way, he’ll do his best to make her smile.  

Zevran pulls his head back into the tent and curls around Sereda.  In the early morning light, he can see the worry on her beautiful face.  

On foolish impulse, he leans in and kisses her forehead.  She’s warm, in a way that makes him feel warm, too, somewhere deep inside.  He rests there for a moment and then pulls away to see tired green eyes watching him.  

“Good morning, Zevran,” Sereda says quietly.  

“It snowed overnight,” Zevran says.  

“Cool,” Sereda says, struggling with a smile.

Once they’re both dressed, Zevran crawls out of the tent and then reaches down to help Sereda.  She takes his hand and looks around with an unreadable expression.  Her gaze tracks a snowflake from the sky down to where it lands in his hair.  

Sereda stares for a minute and Zevran stares back.  The snow is catching in her hair and eyelashes, and it sticks to her skin before melting away.  She looks beautiful, which doesn’t surprise Zevran.  When doesn’t she?

She runs her fingers through her hair before bending down to scoop up some snow.  Her face is unreadable as it melts in her hands.  

“It’s water,” Sereda murmurs, leaning down and grabbing more.  “Snow is water.”

“Yes, incredible, isn’t it?” Zevran asks.  

“It is,” Sereda says.

She looks up at him with a mischievous expression.  He knows he should probably run, but it’s so good to see her look something other than tired.  

Moving slowly, so he really does have the chance to run if he wants, Sereda pulls back her arm.  The snowball flies through the air and blows past him, landing on someone else’s tent.  

“Your aim is terrible,” Zevran says, laughing.  

“This is why I swing two swords, and let Leliana shoot the arrows,” Sereda says with the barest hint of a smile.  

“Wise and beautiful,” Zevran says.

He scoops up his own snowball, shaping it with care before taking aim.  

“Zevran…” Sereda backs up, shaking her head and laughing.  “Zevran, what are you doing?”

“Demonstrating that I have aim, too!” Zevran says, throwing the snowball at her shoulder.

It hits right on target, and Sereda grins up at him with a slightly shocked expression.  “You hit me!”

“I have excellent aim,” Zevran says.

It’s so good to see her smile and laugh, even though she’s now looking up at him with a determination that usually ends with something impossible happening (and people dead on the ground).  

Sereda scoops up another handful of snow and throws it at him, not bothering to pack it.  Without packing, the snow flies everywhere and he gets caught in the spray.

“That, my dear Warden, is cheating,” Zevran says with a laugh, shaking the snow off of himself.

“But it worked,” Sereda says with a shrug.

“I was not criticizing your methods,” Zevran says.  “I admire a certain underhandedness, and you know that I love to play dirty.”

Sereda slides her hand into his, squeezing.  His hand in hers feels so good that he wants to pull away from her.  But he doesn’t, and she leads him to the edge of camp.

“And why have you brought me out here?” Zevran asks.

“Playing dirty,” Sereda says.

Before Zevran can ask anything else, Sereda tackles him and he lands in a giant snow pile with her straddling him.  The snow flies around them, and Zevran is too shocked for a moment to laugh.  Sometimes, he forgets that she’s strong enough to toss him over her shoulder and carry him away, but he loves to be reminded of it.

Sereda grins down at him, absolutely covered in snow and shivering.  But she looks so pleased with herself that Zevran can’t help but smile back.  It’s been too long since she’s looked alive like this, and it feels good.  

“You took yourself down, too,” Zevran notes. 

Sereda leans down, nuzzling her face against his neck briefly.  Her breath comes in quick, warm bursts against his neck.  “It’s worth it, sometimes.”

Zevran doesn’t want to think about her self sacrificing tendencies right now, not with all people pointing sharp swords at her and the people around her.  He has no doubts that Sereda would leap in front of an arrow meant for a complete stranger, never mind one of her friends or companions, and he wishes she would be selfish sometimes.

“So, you like snow?” Zevran asks.  

“Oh, no,” Sereda says, shaking her head.  “It’s cold and wet, which only makes the cold worse, and while it’s beautiful, it’s not beautiful enough to be worth it.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Zevran says, frowning.

Sereda presses her forehead against his cheek and presses a kiss to his jaw.  She pulls back, cupping his face between her cold calloused hands.  

“I hate the snow.  I hate the cold.  I hate the mountains.  But I...” Sereda trails off, fingers curling against his cheeks.  

She’s looking at him with an alarming intensity, and his heart starts beating faster for reasons that he can’t quite pinpoint.  He doesn’t know if he wants her to stop or keep going and put a name to the wrong things he feels.  

“But I like new things.  Even when they’re confusing,” Sereda finishes quietly.  

Sereda leans down and presses her lips to his carefully.  There are hidden meanings in the way her lips move against his, in the way her hand slides down to rest on his collarbone.  He’s soaked to the bone, and given the way Sereda is shivering she is too, but Zevran still feels like he’s on fire.

When they pull apart, Sereda averts her gaze, for which Zevran is grateful.  There’s something about her gaze that makes him feel scrutinized, and he doesn’t want to feel scrutinized right now.  He feels strange enough already.  

“You are going to be cold all day,” Zevran murmurs eventually.  Someone has to say something.

“So’re you,” Sereda says.  “Sorry.”

“You are a terrible liar, dear Warden,” Zevran says.

Sereda laughs and shakes her head.  “I am sorry that you’re going to be cold, but I’m not sorry I got you.  And I’m going to get off of you now.”

Zevran pouts.  “Aw, I do enjoy being underneath you so much.”

“Later,” Sereda says, kissing his cheek and getting off of him.  

“You are a cruel woman,” Zevran says as she pulls him to his feet.  

* * *

  


They both shiver all day long, even though they’ve changed into dry clothes.  The cold seeped into both of their bones, but Zevran feels lighter on his feet than ever.  

He falters slightly when Sereda takes his hand as they walk.  It feels so good, so right, and he wants to pull away.

“For warmth,” Sereda says, looking up at him and swallowing hard.  

Zevran nods.  That makes sense.  He grips her hand tightly, like he’s afraid that she’s going to let go.

_ It’s just another pleasure _ Zevran repeats to himself.  


End file.
